


Kink-Shaming Tony Stark (Doesn't Work)

by HRH After Dark (hannahrhen)



Series: Good, Giving, Game [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Blasphemy, Catholic Guilt, Consensual Kink, Costume Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Historical Roleplay, Humor, M/M, Religion Kink, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing, Virginity Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/HRH%20After%20Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three episodes of "Vikings," there had been wine, and lewd discussion, and--now that Tony thought of it--a little too much interest in his guilty kink confessions from the God of Mischief.</p><p>(Expanding day eighteen in the "Good, Giving, Game" 'verse: "roleplay." Or, Loki and Tony as Athelstan and Ragnar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kink-Shaming Tony Stark (Doesn't Work)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fellowshipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipper/gifts).



> An expansion of "day eighteen" in [Good, Giving, Game](http://archiveofourown.org/works/770952). 
> 
> No clue if Tony Stark's mother was Catholic, but it certainly seems plausible.
> 
> For fellowshipper, for posting the first comment on GGG appreciating the Stockholmed!priest kink.
> 
> Meanwhile, just ... don't tell my mom I wrote this, 'kay? _(waves hands nervously as I back away)_

Tony couldn’t hold in the burst of surprised laughter when he got a load of Loki.

The robe, the rope, the--oh, Jesus ...

 _The hair._ Loki’s hair was suddenly shorter, boyish and shiny-clean, framing his face and making him look ... no, not innocent, but Tony could stop at “not as joyfully and irreversibly corrupt.” Dressing as an ninth-century monk succeeded, at least on the surface, in transforming Loki into the paragon of good the Avengers could only dream of.

It also was instantly, incandescently hot, and Tony regretted immediately how free he had been with his mouth, and his secret kinks, the week before. With a hand, he covered his offending lips reflexively, then muttered, “Oh, Jesus.”

Muffled, but heard anyway. Dipping his head, Loki confided, “That’s the idea.” A pause. “Ragnar.”

“No.” Tony dropped his hand, then held it out as a ward. Garlic against a libido-exploiting vampire, or a cross-- _gah,_ scratch that, not a cross. _Not. A. Cross._ He took two big steps back, continued desperately, “No, no, no--”

Loki ... Loki followed him forward, then _fell to his knees_ a few paces into the room, just in front of where Tony’s Catholic-fight-or-flight mechanism was kicking in. “I was _kidding_ ,” Tony insisted. He’d fucking--God--after episode three of “Vikings,” there had been wine, and lewd discussion, and--now that he thought of it--a little too much interest in Tony’s confessions from the God of Mischief.

“Were you?” After a smirk, Loki dipped his head. “You don’t crave my pure flesh, Ragnar? My untouched body?” Loki peeked back up through his eyelashes. “You don’t want to be the one to open me to all of your carnal desires?” He voice was silken in its teasing. “Perhaps I’ve been waiting for you, my master--to take me in hand, to shape me for your use.”

“Oh. Oh, God.” Tony jerked his head around, not really looking for anything but trying not to let this vision take hold the way Loki in the corset had. Crap, Loki had a goddamned Bible in his--in his-- “I can’t,” he gasped. “My mother would kill me. She would resurrect _just_ to kill me. I’m not kidding.”

At that, Loki pinched down a smirk. “Master,” he continued, shifting on his knees, drifting closer, Bible tucked snugly under his arm. “I am here, at your mercy. Weak and innocent and so. Very. Sheltered. Never known the touch of another. Woman ... or man.” His head ducked further down, eyes “chastely” on the floor, but Tony could hear his smile. “It would be a sin, I know, to use me in this way. Would I have to fight you, to protect my virtue? You’re so much stronger, I probably wouldn’t be able to fight ... hard.” The last word delivered as a match-flame of pleasure that started at the base of Tony’s spine, then ran ablaze through his gut and chest and cock.

That mission accomplished, Loki reached out and set the Bible on the chair next to the dresser. (Steve’s chair, even, Tony cringed. This could only get worse.) Then the same hand came up, adjusted the collar of his rough-woven brown robe, and--

 _Oh._

It got worse. 

A heavy silver cross, strung on leather, right in the beautiful hollow at the base of his neck. “Oh, shit--take that off.” Tony’s hands clenched. “Seriously, I don’t believe in the afterlife, but just in fucking case there is one, I can’t possibly--seriously, Maria Carbonell Stark will kill me. And you. Even if you’re sort-of immortal, she will kick your ass, Loki. She could do it.” He reasoned frantically. “Asgardian godhood is no match for Catholic mom-rage. _Loki_.”

“My name is Athelstan,” Loki said simply, blinking in mock-confusion, “or you can call me ‘Priest.’ Would you prefer that, my lord?”

Tony whimpered. He was going to Hell.

Loki’s hands went to his waist, to the length of rope that cinched there, only suggesting his lithe form, and unknotted it with sure movements. The rope fell away, but he held it in one palm. Then, lifting his eyes once more to meet Tony’s, he breathed, “Perhaps you would prefer it tied around my neck, Ragnar? To show everyone that I belong to you? To drag me in front of your friends and force me to serve?” The amused mockery died away at the last, and now Loki watched him, gaze assessing. “Don’t you wish for them to see the power you wield over me? To have them see me kneeling at your feet, fulfilling your every wish? Knowing I'm entirely yours ... commanded ... controlled.” He breathed. “ _Master_.”

Something had changed in Loki’s play, and ... yeah. A fucking conflagration, prickling warmth over the surface of his skin, beading sweat just under his hairline. He already knew how it was going to go. Still, Tony hesitated: “I ... uh ... “

Loki quirked his sinful, damning lips. “Perhaps you need some assistance in finding the right frame of mind?” With a gesture, Loki shrouded him in golden light, and when he looked around, then down at himself ...

His t-shirt and jeans were gone. In their place, a heavy, elaborately-stitched tunic, more leather than cloth; leggings that clung to his thighs; boots that weighted his feet to the floor. An axe on his broad belt. “Oh, God, this is going to kill me.” When he looked back up, the rope was suddenly fastened around Loki’s neck, long end-piece in one fist.

Tony--oh, God--Tony finally took a step closer.

Loki watched him, eyes widening. “What do I have to do, Ragnar, my heathen lord,” he whispered, “to convince you to make me obey?” Looking at nothing but Tony, Loki lifted the hand with the rope--an offering.

And Tony took it. Felt the axe on his hip, the leather pulling against his chest as he drew in air ... Loki, on his knees, green eyes meeting Tony's but no longer laughing at him. Pure temptation, wrapped in sack-cloth and left as a sacrifice at his feet.

Ah, fuck-- _fuck it_. In for a penny. And if Mom knew what was best for her, she was turning a blind eye to this whole thing (he hoped.) Or running interference for him (he really hoped)--no, he didn’t _believe_ , per se, but ...

Time to fan the flames.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment--steeled himself. Then he looked down at the “monk” at his feet, reached for and touched his hair gently, and spoke. “You are ... “ He choked, started again. Barely recognized his tone, the words he spoke. But knew the feeling. “You are beautiful when you are on your knees, worshiping your god ... " _In for a pound._ " ... my priest.” And, as the humor had faded from Loki’s voice, so too had it from Tony’s. “So first, I believe, I will see what it takes to make you pray.”

Keeping one hand on the crown of Loki’s head, he held the rope in the other, pulling at it slowly, beginning to take up the slack. “To make you pray to me.”

Loki’s mouth opened slightly, his expression transforming. Shifting toward rapt.

And Tony? Joyfully, willingly burned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, as always! Find me on tumblr at hannahrhen.tumblr.com.


End file.
